


I Wanna Be Your Dog

by A_Vexing_Hex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First time writing this, Humiliation, I'm still not sure, M/M, Moriarty really likes his pets, Was this successful?, degredation, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Vexing_Hex/pseuds/A_Vexing_Hex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABO fic, written for 7ns on Tumblr. Includes Edmund Byron, who was partially incepted by me, but mainly belongs to my buddy, Siksta.</p><p>This is for you guys, you filthy, sick little fuckers. I love you.</p><p>---</p><p>Jim often holds auditions for new pets, but not for himself. Strangely enough, for the Alpha he keeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Be Your Dog

“Look, Sebby, I’ve brought you a cunt.”

Strangled breathing, choked by thick rope, probably inappropriate for bondage, wrapped tight around his throat. Jim inspected it idly, tracing his fingers along the strands that only tightened with every single one of Moran’s desperate surges forward.

“You can smell him, can’t you? Or…perhaps that’s just me you’re getting.”

The rope linked to the wall. It wasn’t the sort that you would use in any sane sort of bondage…a rough jute, natural rope that would more commonly be seen on ships. Moriarty wasn’t a sailor, but he knew his way around rope, the knots clean and tidy—three ropes total. One to his neck (the leash) and one to each of his wrists, which now began to look a bit bloody from his desperate struggle to escape the wall.

Slowly, the criminal stepped back. His hands clasped behind him as he watched the muscular man, bare as he was, pull and strain against his bounds, so urgent in his need, so very at-the-end-of-his-rope…

Jim had to take a few moments to snort and snicker and recover from how funny that little pun was.

Another step back, and one or two sideways this time. He crouched, and stroked his fingers along the spine of his second victim, before slapping him hard across the face, waking him.

The boy was brunette. A scruffy brunette at the moment, being that his hair was tousled from the previous treatment. Forced to his knees, he was, barely conscious from the heavy doses of drugs pushed into his system, from the sweetest kisses of needles to arms that were nearly too spindly to even take them under his skin. 

His clothing had been cut away, and he was now rigged tight to the floor and the ceiling all at once. More of the cruel rope, that rough tether that held Seb, also kept this captive noosed, though his slipknot was leashed to the floorboards. His head wasn’t by the floor though, as his arms were lashed much tighter than his neck, behind his back, jerked and hoisted up just beneath the elbows, toward an eyehook in the ceiling. The rope descended from that point to loop around his waist, which kept the curve of the boy’s ass in the air, exposed.

Exposed to the view of Alpha Sebastian Moran, who was practically frothing for it.

Or he would be, if the muzzle weren’t so damn tight.

But the tightness of that muzzle only kept the Alpha’s massive cock hard and ready. A dedicated, domineering slut. The Colonel, standing at attention (though in an entirely different sort of way), prepared for whatever his master had in store for him.

It brought a smile to Jim’s face.

Moriarty’s control was insane. Moran thought so, and the criminal knew as much. As an omega, he should be drooling for his pet’s cock, writhing on the floor in a pool of bloody hormones, screaming for a fuck. Instead, he remained the only one clothed in the room. He took so much more satisfaction from ruining others…and if the audition went well tonight, this second pet may remain as a breeding partner, to take the stress out of some of Jim’s heats. Also, it would be a welcome source of laughs. It would sate the heat between his thighs more thoroughly than any knot.

With tenderness that mocked more fiercely than any series of words strung together, Moriarty’s fingers gripped softly at the captive boy’s chin and stroked. “Wake up, Eddie. You’ll want to be conscious for this one.”

Edmund blinked slowly. He squinted. Jim had rid him of his glasses, but he was bound to be hazy from the narcotics as well.

A soft voice drifted from him. “Wha--…where……..?”

“Shh. Shhhh, oh darling, you’re going to _bleed for me_.”

Freckles became apparent as Byron tipped his head up slightly. Soft spots, speckles of DNA spattered across his face, sliding over the tips of his ears, a few dotting his throat. An artist’s brush had been carelessly flicked at him in one of nature’s prettier accents. Jim couldn’t help but think he could do a better job with some other medium, though.

Even through the cloud that surrounded him, the brunette showed reluctance and made a face, his lips dipping down slightly. His expression remained nearly entirely composed aside from the dullness that overtook once bright blue hues and replaced them with glazed confusion. “…How do you know my--…Where are my clothes?”

That was his question? Bound to the floor for the scrutiny of Jim’s lapdog, and he asked about his vestments.

So precious.

Jim’s hand clapped against his cheek in a pat, twice, sneering. The gesture could almost be considered fond, if it were any other man in the world. But it remained as a mocking little slip of the fingers, and then the omega was standing again.

“You aren’t meant for this you know, Eddie boy. You aren’t. A beta--your biology was made to be perfectly normal as any of the other boys. But that’s just unfair, don’t you think? You don’t get to play, get to breed, get to soak yourself in the pools of _sick_ , **_fucking_** lust like the rest of us. That can’t be right.”

After Moriarty strode to the side, he returned, and a dish clattered to the floor, a red bowl meant for the feeding or watering a pet. His voice followed the clamor.

“Do you want to be my dog?”

Edmund stared at the dish, blinking wide. He heard the snarl and grunt of the beast tethered behind him. He lifted a lip in a sneer, albeit a panicky one, and twisted to try and escape his bounds. The rope dug in and made his skin shear, bleed a little, form harsh sores. “Is this some kind of joke?!” American accent, bouncing off of undecorated basement walls.

Where had they found this one again?

Oh, that’s right.

Through the filter of pheromones and chemicals naturally produced in his brain, somewhere in the back of it all, he remembered. And so, he thought, would Seb, were he not a frothing, dripping mess right now.

It had been in a library where he had seen the beautiful little bastard first. Researching…what was it, Ancient Egypt? The pyramids, the cultures. Page by page, Edmund Byron worked through those books, and the master and his pet watched.

This was the most common form of hunting for Moriarty and Moran. They would determine a target. They would stalk their prey, over the course of a week or so, and then they would break them in. Or, in some cases, break them entirely. Whatever the local menu called for.

But what fueled Sebastian Moran’s ire, his blind, lustful rage at the moment, was a trained, Pavlovian response. Nothing was a better aphrodisiac than the mind, and when that mind had been altered and fixated upon the brunette whelp through sessions watching him--from alleyways and in between aisles at stores and that very same library, Jim’s hand down the sniper’s jeans and fisting his dick while he whispered poison in his ear ( _I know you see him I know you’ve heard him imagine how he screams in that same voice Sebby_ )…that hound was more than ready, and hating his leash for keeping him from the choice pussy his master had lulled him into longing after.

So now, his polished loafer lifting to tilt Edmund’s chin up, Jim asked the question again. “ _Do you want to be my dog, Eddie_?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to snatch his head away, and then inversely to butt at his shoe.

Now that was a pity. The consulting criminal clicked his tongue, once, and then set his foot down. Moran gave a snapping, feral snarl, and some sound from the Alpha’s throat washed a wave of lightheadedness over Jim’s form. This couldn’t last too much longer. Best to be on with the main event soon.

And so, it was with a sigh that Jim stepped back and examined the two of them. The drugged lamb laid out before the starving lion. Sedate, but not quite enough. Not yet.

Another rough sound and Moriarty’s thighs twitched beneath a fine layer of Italian wool. He kneeled and fisted a hand tight in Edmund’s hair, making the boy face him.

“I’m offering you an opportunity. We’ve watched you, and I’ve found you worthy enough to lick my heels, but you have to ask pretty for it. Otherwise you’ll be left here to starve.”

The weight, the heady nature of the situation was beginning to catch up to Byron, whose eyes now flicked from side to side, unable to look behind where the exit to the door actually was. A bright student, his mind worked quickly, and he began to understand that the threat being made was very, painfully real.

Jim continued, “Pretty, cocky boys walking about on the street like you do really ought to be taught something about submission. _Everyone_ ought to learn a little something about that. This is your free pass into learning, Eddie. _Do you want to be my dog_?” Each sentence sounded entirely inconsequential until he murmured that third repetition of that vicious, degrading little question. With it, his voice dropped a near-octave, and his breath picked up a heat that echoed the one between his thighs.

Oh, and his eyes were so bright. Byron’s were a particularly electric shade of blue that was only consumed in the black that met them. They had to look away from that darkness soon enough.

“…No.”

Barely murmured, almost lost in the sounds of Sebastian’s struggles behind him.

It would have been a pity. But Jim hated his animals too easily broken. He spoke to the contrary, though. “That’s a shame. No going back now. You remember you said that, because I’m not responsible for what the silly little fucker behind you does now.”

There might have been a protest, a “wait!,” or something of the sort. Jim didn’t recall, because he was on his feet, moving to stand between the other two, his eyes locked with the dull chartreuse ones that belonged to his Alpha.

Through that eye contact, he again defied convention. Every nerve in Jim’s brain burned, telling him to look down, to remain submissive, to drop to his knees and swallow down every inch of cock that his Alpha granted him. The feel of those synapses firing made his mouth water, and he twisted his lips into a sick little grin.

Moriarty locked his fingers into Sebastian’s muzzle, and tugged the other man’s face close to his own. He could hear his nostrils flare, and as he removed the tooled leather, he watched (with no small amount of pleasure) a string of saliva droop from the sniper’s lips down to the floor. So his mouth was watering too. Perfect.

Those same fingertips clawed into Seb’s chest, and spelled angry red marks, straight lines down the marred flesh of his torso. The whisper at his ear was dewy, Moriarty’s tone marked by the chemistry that he refused to let control him. “You’re going to fuck him now. You’re going to _fuck him_ , and _tie him_ , and _ruin him_ , Sebby. Perhaps you’ll do a better job of convincing.” As he spoke, he stepped backward. A small bottle was tugged from his pocket. The cap flipped open. Jim crouched, and poured a liberal amount of cool, slick lubricant through the cleft of Edmund’s ass, despite the American’s attempts at surging forward and away. It wasn’t nearly as toxic and interesting as the more natural wetness that stirred within Moriarty’s own body, but it would do in a pinch.

“Then you’d better fucking untie me, you piece of shit!” It was the first phrase the Colonel had been allowed to utter, and a crass one at that.

“In time.” Jim smirked, running his fingers through the slick, before pushing one digit into the protesting entrance therein. Byron gave a grunt of sorts. That finger moved, twisted, moved again, before a second joined it. “You watch, first.”

Sebastian surged forward again. It seemed his energy was unending. “I’ve _been_ watching, Jim. You fucking let me. You let me right now, or I swear to fucking God, it will be **_you_** that I—“

Moriarty shook his head and twisted his fingers again. A third. “Tch. You know it won’t.”

Edmund, in his drugged haze, gave something of a confused groan. Sebastian lowered his head slightly.

Enough foreplay.

Jim stood, and with two easy strides, he was at Moran’s side. A knife was produced from what may have been thin air, and the ropes were cut. As the knife nicked those strands, he slid his tongue over his pulse, his jaw, and bit hard at his ear before at long last muttering, “ _Sic ‘em_.”

And he did.

Sebastian charged in as he was bade, his knees hitting the floor with a sickening thud. He yanked Edmund’s arms partially to the side, so he could lean in and bite hard into the flesh of his shoulder. Moran thrust into his toy with rather distressing abandon, and the scream he was rewarded with was everything Jim had promised it would be.

Sex with an Alpha was intense, whether a man or woman was a beta, an omega…it didn’t matter. But sex with a teased, sex-drunk Alpha was downright dangerous.

Jim slowly circled them. He slid his fingers up and down the bulge in his fine dress slacks, noted each and every one of their movements. The befuddled way Edmund would jerk forward, and then suddenly lunge back…the bloody marks Sebastian’s nails were leaving along his sides, down his back, parallel to his ribs…the symphony of snarls and pitiful yelps that became the norm.

Moriarty gripped his erection tight through the fabric, and knelt in front of the American once more. He pushed the dog bowl forward, just beneath Byron’s head, close to where the rope linked to the floor. “Such pretty puppies.”

The sound of his master’s voice had Seb’s head snapping up. Feral gaze reflected upon feral gaze. Sebastian’s thrusts slowed, became more artful, more deliberate. Showing off. But Moriarty was beyond the need for craftsmanship right now, so instead of noting that, he mashed his mouth with the sniper’s.

The kiss was violent—teeth clicked against teeth. Lips were bitten, and tongues fought for dominance. Eventually Sebastian’s biting found Jim’s tongue, and he bore down hard, rewarded by a sharp cry and a flow of blood that painted both of their mouths scarlet. The feel of it drove Moran nearly insane, and he began bucking deeper, much harder into Edmund’s now-compliant form.

Ah, yes. The new little fuck toy. Byron’s sounds were breathier than the Psychopaths Two. His face was flushed, causing the aforementioned freckles to blossom and bloom. Pain was obvious within his body, but with a quick squeeze, Jim knew he was hard. It was time for a much more difficult test.

Teeth bloodied and reddened, soaked in war-paint like his lips, Jim grinned. He let Moran fuck away, and unzipped his own slender, modest cock from its dwelling, and pressed it tight against Edmund’s lips.

“Suck.”

He expected resistance. He expected the threat of teeth, and the protest of that pouting little upturned frowned. What he didn’t expect was to be sucked in so tightly into that mouth. It made him laugh in surprise, and laugh loud. The boy knew how to give head, and he was doing so now…well then.

Moriarty twisted the fingers of his hands into the hair of both men. Sebastian was brought in to abuse his mouth more, and Byron was held still to have his mouth fucked. This motion presented more of a challenge to the newcomer, and the brunette struggled and squirmed as he was made to choke on the length of Jim’s swollen dick. And as if that wasn’t enough…then came the knot.

There was a certain rhythm, a certain roll to Seb’s hips when he was close to coming. His brow would knit, his teeth would clench, his ass and thighs would tense as though he had become a beast himself. Moriarty pulled back and stroked his cock quickly to watch this transformation. He could swear his breath was hot enough to fog in the air.

The sniper bent deeper into Edmund’s body, and both men’s faces contorted. Edmund’s eyes went wide for just a moment, with a protesting cry of “What is that—“ before the swollen base, the hound’s cock was pushed in entirely past the ring of muscle that fought lazily now against the intrusion. They were tied, and Sebastian bucked twice more before he came. Liquid heat spilled in copious amounts within Byron’s belly, overfilling him, spilling out around the tie as Moran still moved, head rocked back, one hand on the new pup’s hip, the other tugging hard on the rope that held his arms.

Pleased with that sight, and with the tension in Edmund’s arms, Jim tugged in opposition on the rope that held his neck. The smell of cum filled his nostrils and dragged him under, the sight of it between Byron’s legs, and on the floor nearly drove him mad. As Sebastian still moved, he tugged tight on the brunette’s restraints to choke him a little as he jerked his own cock, so close, _so fucking close_ …

He painted freckles of white over cheeks that were already smattered with freckles more native. He smeared it with the tip of his cock over Edmund’s face, his lips, and then down into the bowl beneath them. What a beautiful mess they’d made.

After a somewhat frenzied orgasm, Moriarty settled back on his knees. Sebastian was still throbbing in the boy’s aching cunt. Jim smirked, and slowly wiped a bit of blood from his chin before he cut the rope that held Byron’s arms. With great pleasure, he watched him sink into his little doggy dish, watched him try to pull away from it, noted with many words in mind how his spending clung to the brunette’s cheeks.

Without too much ceremony, and snorting at Sebastian, who was only now noticing his bloody, ruined wrists, he stood, and tucked his cock back into his slacks as he patted the sniper’s cheek.

To neither one of them in particular, he murmured in a mocking tone, much as one speaking to a beloved canine,

“Who’s a **_good boy_**?”


End file.
